When A Shower Makes You Cry

I went to the neurologist today. The report was great. My EEG was as good as you could expect. My problems are manageable, and my recovery continues. As part of our visit, I mentioned to the doctor that I feel my mind and my brain urging me to forget the details of what happened.

Her comments surprised me. There is REALLY such a thing as your mind and brain throwing up borders to protect you. I was swept away! What I am feeling and experiencing is real. My doctor said she knows about the phenomenon from her scientific training, but pointed out that I know it better because I am living it.

We also talked about the “whack-a-mole” challenge of recovery. You get better, you reach a new level of skill, and then the “moles” pop up – little deficits that show up that you have to learn to manage. Each time, and this is how I prefer to see it, I’m reaching a new level of recovery.

And so, I want to press on with a bit more of my recovery story – before I forget and before new “moles” show back up.

I left you with me in rehab at the hospital in Dallas, learning to walk and to recapture my life. I made remarkable progress (if I must say so myself). Every day there seemed to be a new level of skill and function. I was blessed that my cognitive skills came back very fast – much faster than the doctors expected. In fact, I became something of a show pony on morning rounds. I had been so sick, and could/should have died but didn’t, and now I was adding numbers and shuffling through the hallways.

I made very few “thinking” mistakes, except early on when they wanted me to identify line drawings of a lion and a giraffe and a couple of others. Each time, I started with “elephant?” – knowing it was wrong. Then, I got the right animal.

But, overall, I had a splendid recovery. I did my share of crying and “snot slinging” – but I could see myself getting better. I have told too many people that while I would never recommend a brain tumor and seizures and paralysis for anyone, the joy of recovery is an experience that has enriched my life.

Eventually, they set a going home date of 12/12/12. They wrote the date in big letters on the whiteboard in my room. Everything began to be focused on hitting my discharge date. Oddly, you would think I would have been more excited about going home. But I think the “unpleasantness” had burned out the bits that register “excitement”. I just yearned to be home.

I made that discharge date. We drove home from Dallas to Tyler, the grass that winter gray-green that encourages you for spring. I noticed that the sky is so big and blue when you’ve been inside for nearly two months.

And then, Kenny was unloading me (and the walker, and all my other bits including Christmas decorations and a stuffed bear named Puddles) and I was in the house.

The only thing I wanted was a shower. “Oh thank you God and Kenny and everybody for saving my life, but please let me wash the hospital stink off me.” St. Kenny had already installed grip handles in the shower, but he got in beside me to hold me up. And so there I was, under the water, and weeping, weeping.